Lord of Raven's Peak (23 page)

“Aye,” she said, and kissed his chest.

“I cannot stop thinking of my brother. He was so very alive, Laren. He loved life, he wanted everything he could get from it. You saw him acting the bastard, unfair and arrogant. But I knew him before.”

“Did he change so much?”

“Aye, I believe he must have chafed sorely against my father's authority, for my father was master of Malverne and none other, even his eldest son who was his heir to Malverne. After my father's death, he gained too much power too quickly. Aye, it changed him, made him unmindful of others, made him unwise in his arrogance. There was no one like my father there to temper his vanity.”

“He hurt Sarla very much.”

“I saw the bruises on her face. That wasn't well done of him. She is a gentle girl, kind and giving. Still, to die in such a way, I would have wished it otherwise.”

“Deglin is dead, and that is something.”

“Aye,” he said, kissed her forehead, and pressed her cheek against his shoulder.

 

Weland, Duke Rollo's first lieutenant, a man who had been at Rollo's right hand since they'd both been boys, a man so strong he could pull a sapling oak from the ground, was grinning like a hyena.

“I have a great surprise for you, sire, a very great surprise.”

Prince Rollo, as he was called by his people, even though his lands were called a duchy and thus he was only a duke by grant of the French king, was taller than any sapling Weland could pull from the ground. He turned his dark eyes on his man and said, “Aye, Weland, what is it this time? You bring me a Nubian maid to warm my old bones? Mayhap a magic potion to
stop the grinding pain in my joints? A stallion tall enough so my feet don't drag the ground?”

“Nay, sire, I bring you a gift beyond any weight of silver. Laren has come back.”

Rollo just stared at Weland. “You jest,” he said at last. “She and Taby are dead, long dead. I forgive you most things, Weland, but this is too much. Do not trifle with me.”

Weland just shook his head, still smiling like a fool, and called out, “Bring them in!”

Rollo saw only the slender girl with her glorious red hair, nearly curling to her shoulders, the way he'd always liked her to wear it when she was younger. He'd hated her braids because they'd dimmed the beautiful color, the exact same shade as his older brother Hallad's hair. She was too slender, he saw as she walked closer, ah, but she'd become a beauty, and more than that, there was more of life in her eyes, and more shadows, but there was also joy and confidence that the child had lacked. She was gowned beautifully in a soft blue linen that was belted at her waist. She wore finely wrought silver brooches and silver armlets. She was almost of his loins, this graceful creature, and now she was here, alive, with a man striding beside her.

He said her name softly, just the saying of it making her real, very real. He rose, towering over even the back of his throne.

“Laren!”

His shout reverberated throughout the chamber, and she laughed aloud and ran to him, and he caught her up in his arms, lifting her high off the floor, and squeezing her and laughing with her now.

“By the gods, you're taller,” he said, and kissed her on both cheeks, back and forth, squeezing until she groaned with the force of his strength.

“I am home, uncle,” she said. “Ah, you are still so very handsome. The two years are as nothing with you, my lord. You haven't Weland's grizzled gray hair. I am also pleased you have not grown taller, bless the gods.”

He lowered her to the floor, and just held her hand, then pushed her a little bit farther away from him, and continued to stare down at her. “You are the same yet you have changed more than I can begin to imagine.”

“Aye, it's true.”

Suddenly his eyes clouded. She knew he was thinking about Taby but was afraid to hear that he was dead. She said quickly, “My lord, Taby is well and healthy and safe.”

“Ah,” Rollo said and raised his voice heavenward. “I will make sacrifices to all the gods, even the Christian God. We searched everywhere for you and Taby. Your cousin William led scores of men throughout the countryside and even into Paris. There was no trace of you. Tell me, Laren, tell me what happened to you.”

“I will, my lord. First you will meet the man who saved both Taby and me, the man who is now my husband. He is the master of Malverne, a wealthy farmstead in Vestfold, and his name is Merrik Haraldsson.”

Weland said, “Go to His Highness, Merrik.”

Merrik walked slowly to the mighty Rollo, a man he'd heard unbelievable tales about all his life. Now this man was of his family, this man whose legs were so long Merrik imagined that he would need a horse at least seventeen hands high to keep his feet from touching the ground. It was said he walked most places, his men riding beside him. That would be a sight indeed, Merrik thought. Ah, but his was a royal bearing, even though the years had dragged a few strands of white through his dark hair and etched lines in his cheeks and forehead. But his eyes, dark as midnight, were bright with
intelligence and, Merrik saw with some surprise, with humor. He had all his teeth and his jaw was firm and stubborn. A man to reckon with.

“My lord,” he said, coming to a halt in front of Rollo. He would not bow. A Viking bowed to no man.

“You saved Laren and Taby.”

“Aye. I was in Kiev and found them both at the Khagan-Rus slave market.”

“Slave market!”

Laren laid her hand lightly on her uncle's richly embroidered woolen sleeve. “It is a very long story, my lord. Quickly put, Taby and I were abducted from my bed two years ago and sold as slaves south in the Piedmont. We have lived as slaves ever since.”

Rollo just stared at her.

“I dismissed the guards, my lord,” Weland said into the immense silence. “Laren said she wanted only you and me to know she'd returned. And Otta, of course. Only Haakon knows besides us. He is seeing to Merrik's men. He is saying only that they are your visitors from Norway, naught else. There is betrayal, my lord. We must take steps before it is known she and Prince Taby are returned to us.”

Rollo said finally, “Where is Taby?”

Merrik said, “He is at my farmstead, Malverne, lying some half day's inland sail from Kaupang. He is safe and guarded well.”

“Ah, and when we know who had you abducted and sold as slaves, then you will bring Taby back to me?”

“Aye, my lord, but not until then. I love the child. I won't chance his being hurt again. I would ask that none save you, sire, and Weland here know that Taby is alive. I won't take any chance with his safety, no matter how unlikely.”

“I agree, Merrik. However, he must come back to me,
for my only son, William, as yet has no heirs that have survived their mother's womb. Taby is important to me, important to Normandy.”

“That is the only reason I am here, sire.”

Rollo looked at the Viking more closely now. “You are Laren's husband,” he said. “Did you wish to wed her before or after she told you who she was?”

Merrik took no offense. “Before, sire. However, I care not about this Danelaw prince. She is mine now and the mistress of Malverne.”

Rollo made no move, merely continued studying the man who'd saved his niece and Taby. For that, he owed him more than he could imagine, as did his son, William, for William knew it vital for a man's line to continue, and continue it would. This man Merrik Haraldsson looked to be a man of fine parts—big and robust, bursting with youth and good health—no pain in his damned joints!—and he had the handsome looks women admired, that doubtless Laren admired. He would see. Aye, he would study this man closely before he decided if he would keep Laren with him or let her hold to this marriage.

He said to Weland, “For the moment Laren will remain with Merrik. He will guard her better than any of our men, but keep men close to their sleeping chamber nonetheless.” Rollo turned away and smote his palm against his forehead. “Ah, why did I listen to those damnable women? They told me they'd heard of plots and evil men who wished me dead, and through Taby and you, Laren, to eventually destroy my dynasty. There are always plots, always evil men, particularly that vicious lot from the Orkneys, and thus I believed them. I have kept William safe but I failed with you and Taby. By all the gods, Helga's tongue is smoother than an adder's, and Ferlain's manner is as innocent
and guileless as a damnable Christian nun's. I will kill the bitches.”

“We must have proof, my lord,” Laren said. “I cannot be certain, even though it seems very likely. As you said, there are always evil men, even the Franks who owe their allegiance to their Frankish king, Charles.”

“More than likely. I will speak to Otta about this, but I will not tell him about Taby, no matter that he deserves to know. I don't know where he is. Weland, where is Otta?”

“He, er, is in the privy, sire. He will attend you soon.”

“Otta and his damned belly,” Rollo said. “His belly is always paining him, always sending him to the privy. Well, Merrik, let me tell you that I was nearly to the point of deciding that one of their husbands should follow if something happened to William. Well, I was not completely ready to do it. I am not an ancient graybeard just yet. I would have waited perhaps another year or another score of years. William's wife is breeding. We pray to the Christian God for a live boy. If it happens to come out a girl, then we will see—”

Merrik interrupted him smoothly, “And what if they tired of waiting and poisoned you, sire, or William?”

Weland said, his wide brow lowering, “Aye, 'tis likely what they would have done, you have the right of it, Merrik Haraldsson. Otta has spoken about that as well. He is forever worrying that Rollo and William will be poisoned. He many times tastes Rollo's food before he allows him to eat.”

“Aye,” Rollo said, laughing. “Then he hies himself to the privy as if he had really just eaten the poison.”

Merrik grinned, then grew quickly serious. “What do you wish to do, sire?”

Suddenly Rollo smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was filled with rage and intelligence and determination.
Merrik saw in him the immense strength of will and the unending ambition that had made him a man above men, that had led him into more battles than any man should survive, ah, but Rollo had not only survived, he'd conquered an entire land and was now its ruler. And, Merrik thought, he would rule until the gods determined his time had finally come to an end, then his son would rule, his grandson after him. He saw this, believed it, and prayed it would be true.

R
OLLO KEPT HER
close, always within his reach—his hand on her shoulder, lightly touching her face, squeezing her fingers. And he marveled at how she'd become a woman, of what she'd endured, how she'd survived, keeping both herself and Taby alive, how very proud her father, Hallad, would be . . . His thoughts stopped there, he always forced them to stop, for life continued, so many times in unexpected ways, and in this case he'd won, he'd changed damnable fate. He grasped Laren's wrist and frowned as he felt the still prominent bones.

They'd eaten in Rollo's private chambers, a sumptuous meal that made even Merrik sigh in contentment. Neither Otta nor Weland were present. Merrik had yet to meet Otta. “Laren is a good cook, sire, but I'm not certain if she could best this.”

“The venison is beyond delicious,” Laren said. “Nay, husband, I fear my skills do not exceed what you have already eaten by my hand.” Her uncle was looking appalled, and she added quickly, “One of my owners, an old woman, taught me to cook. I learned well.”

Rollo said slowly, “It is almost more than I can comprehend. My niece a slave. There is knowledge in your eyes, Laren, and sadness, but more than that I also see the happiness there brought to you by this man.”

This man was looking at the two of them. He smiled. “I have tried, sire, to please her. Did you know she is a skald?”

Rollo stared at her in some amazement.

“Aye,” Laren said. “It was my plan to gain silver from the telling of my stories, and buy Taby's and my freedom from Merrik. However, I had no idea how I would return to you even if Taby and I were free. There was Cleve, of course. He had to come with us.”

“Cleve,” Rollo repeated. “Tell me about this Cleve.”

When Laren had finished, Rollo said, “Send him to me. I will see that he never wants again in his life.”

“He is now free,” Merrik said. “He told me that he wanted to stay in Norway.”

Rollo frowned at that, for in his long experience any man offered a chance to come to him would have murdered his own brother to gain it. He said, “He doesn't know yet what I have to offer him.”

“There is a woman, my lord,” Laren said and Rollo sighed, throwing a meaty pheasant bone to one of the huge hunting dogs who were surprisingly calm and quiet.

Rollo said, as he took a handful of honeyed walnuts, “Tell me about the old woman who taught you to cook.”

And she did, the story coming alive, for she was a spellbinder, and when she told of the old woman tasting her seasoned onions baked in honeyed maple leaves with peas, Merrik could nearly taste it himself, at this very moment.

Rollo would never have enough, Laren thought, as he said now, “Tell me about this merchant Thrasco who bought you.”

She did, her voice curt now, and she left out the beating, but Merrik wouldn't allow it.

“He believed her a boy, sire,” Merrik said, his voice
hard and rough. “He was going to give her to Khagan-Rus's sister, Evta, a woman who liked boys. Laren was frantic to get back to Taby and thus she spoke with insolence to him. He beat her quite savagely. Fortunately he did not discover she was a girl.”

“But you saved me, Merrik,” she said, seeing the red flush on her uncle's face, seeing the gnarled blood lines that veined his neck swell and pulse. She wouldn't ever want to be his enemy.

“Nay, not really. I merely caught you.” He wanted Rollo to understand the horror she had endured, but he didn't want him so enraged he wouldn't listen to reason. He said now to Rollo, “She had managed to escape Thrasco's compound when I came along to rescue her. She'd already rescued herself. She is of your seed, sire, she would never give up.”

Rollo laughed, thank the gods, he finally laughed, Laren thought.

“She is a woman to reckon with,” Merrik said when Rollo had become still again.

Laren didn't stare at Merrik, though she wanted to. Did he really believe these wondrous things he was saying about her to her uncle? He'd never said naught about her being a woman to reckon with.

“She always was, even as a little mite,” Rollo said. “I knew she could tell stories—but a skald! It is an amazing thing.”

Their talk went on into the late hours. Rollo wanted every incident, every detail of the past two years. Finally, Weland was allowed into the chamber. He said, “Sire, we must speak of other things. By tomorrow, Helga and Ferlain will have heard about these guests and wonder about them. Even now there are scores of questions about the twenty Vikings who are now here and treated well by you. Aye, they're not stupid. And
their husbands have men loyal to them, doubt it not, particularly Fromm. I know he pays dearly for his traitors.”

Rollo was stroking his chin with his joint-swollen fingers. It was odd, but his joints didn't ache like the Christian hellfires this night. No, he felt renewed. He'd been given more than a man deserved. He knew it and marveled that either the Christian God or his Viking gods had granted him his greatest wish.

“Aye,” he said finally. “We must talk.”

“I have a plan, sire,” Merrik said, leaning forward on his elbows.

 

Ferlain paced to and fro in front of her sister, Helga, but Helga paid her no heed She was mixing a potion and the measures had to be precise.

Ferlain said for the third time, “Who are these Vikings? There is also a girl with them, but none know who she is. Who is she, Helga? You must do something. Look at me! Ask your miserable smoke concoctions! Look into that silver bowl of yours.”

Helga finished her measuring. Only then did she look up at her sister. Then she looked down again and began to gently stir the thin mixture in the small silver bowl. She said in her low, soft voice, “I can see why your husband avoids you so much, Ferlain. All you do is screech and whine, all to no account, and worry and fret. It is tiring. Sit down and hold your tongue behind your teeth. I must finish this or it will be ruined.”

Ferlain, tired and worried, sat. They were in Helga's tower room where servants were forbidden to enter. None came in here save Ferlain, not even Helga's husband, Fromm. He didn't like it, either, always raged about it, but Helga held firm. He could do nothing. Indeed, Ferlain thought, staring at her sister's intent
expression as she stirred one of her vile potions, he was afraid of his wife, 'twas the only thing that stilled his vicious bully's hand against her. She wondered what the potion was.

Perhaps a poison for Rollo, damn the old man for continuing forever and ever. Why wouldn't he simply die? He had lived fifty-six years, but still, despite his painful joints, he appeared healthy as a stoat, his teeth strong, his head covered with thick hair, his back straight.

No, it wasn't poison. It had to be a potion for Helga's own use. Ferlain looked at her older sister and knew that she looked much younger than she, Ferlain, did. There were no wrinkles on her face, and her flesh was soft and resilient. Her hair was rich and full, so light a brown that it was nearly blond. And her waist hadn't thickened over the years. She was nearly thirty-five years old. Ferlain was twenty-nine and she looked old enough to be Uncle Rollo's wife, not his niece.

Ferlain started to jump to her feet, to pace again, just to move, but her sister looked over at her in that moment, and she stilled. Her fingers began violently pleating the folds of her skirt. She couldn't bear not to be moving, to be doing something, ah, but it was difficult now because she was so very fat. All those babes she'd carried, and all of them dead, leaving her nothing save the unsightly flesh that weighted her down and made her ugly. “Are you finished yet, Helga?”

“Aye, I am.” Helga straightened, eyed that damned potion of hers that looked like nothing more than a light broth, and smelled of nothing at all. “Now,” she said, picked up the potion and drank it down. She wiped her hand across her mouth. A spasm of distaste distorted her features, but just for an instant. Then she lightly touched her fingertips to her throat, to her chin, and finally to the soft delicate flesh beneath her eyes. Then
she said calmly, “All right, Ferlain, we have strangers visiting. Rollo and that fool Weland aren't telling anyone who they are. Even Otta is resolute in his silence. Is that correct?”

“Aye, who are they?”

Helga shrugged. “We will know soon enough. Why does it bother you?”

“I know it's her.”

“Her? Who?”

“Laren, Helga. Don't pretend you don't know who I was talking about!”

“Laren,” Helga repeated quietly. “Odd. I haven't thought of the child in a very long time. Do you really believe it possible that the girl survived? That she's actually returned? How very interesting that would be. But Taby wasn't with her, at least you've said naught about a child. He would only have six years now, aye, still a child, and you know how very fragile children are. A puff of a dark wind, and the child sickens and dies. Aye, such fragile creatures they are. So if it is indeed Laren, why do you care?”

“I hate you, Helga! You act so smart and so above all of us. I hate you! If it is Laren, she is back to brew more trouble for us, more trouble than you can concoct potions to counteract.”

Helga smiled and shrugged. “Let her brew up all the mischief she can. We know naught of what happened to her. Calm yourself. You are looking even fatter, Ferlain. You must see to leaving off all those sweetmeats you keep next to your bed. And Cardle is so very thin, the poor man. His chest looks as if it's next to his backbone.”

“Damn you, Helga, I have carried eight babes! A woman gains flesh when she carries a babe.”

But Helga had no interest, for she had lived through
each of her sister's pregnancies, each of her failures. She said, shrugging, “I do hope it is Laren, our long-lost half sister. Such a quaint child she was, always running wild until Taby was born and then she became such the little mother to him, so much more so than her own mother, the faithless bitch. I wonder what Laren looks like now. She is eighteen now, or close to it. Aye, what does she look like?”

“Will you do nothing?”

Helga stared through the narrow window that gave onto the rolling hills behind the city. The land was rich with summer though it was well into fall now. The hills were still covered with trees and grass and blooming daisies and dandelions. She forced herself to look at her sister. It wasn't a pleasing sight, but she was her sister, after all. “Naturally I will do something. We must now just wait and see if this unknown girl is Laren. Then we will see.”

 

Laren wore a pale saffron linen gown, Ileria's favorite, she'd told Merrik, as she smoothed the material free of wrinkles. A saffron ribbon threaded in and out of three thin braids artfully pulled back from her forehead and looped behind her ears. She wore two armlets, both given to her just that morning by Rollo.

She looked like a princess, Merrik thought, and felt a sharp pang in his belly. She looked as though she belonged here. There was a new confidence in her walk, in the way she spoke. For the first time since he'd carried her away with him from Kiev, he felt a lack in himself. He hated it.

“Are you scared?”

“Aye,” he said without pause, then realized she couldn't have known what he'd been thinking. “Scared about meeting your half sisters and their husbands?”

She nodded, then took his hand.

“You've told me so much about them that the fear of the unknown is long gone. No, not that. Other things bother me.” He looked down at her hand, now held in one of his, adding quickly before she could question him, “You slept deeply last night.”

She smiled up at him. “I didn't expect to. It was my old sleeping chamber. The men took Taby and me from that same bed. Nothing has changed.”

She was silent, only her fingers closing and opening in his hand telling him that she was nervous. They were waiting behind Rollo's throne in a small chamber hidden from the huge outer hall by a long scarlet hanging.

They could hear men's and women's voices, the curiosity, the questions, the speculation.

“I've never before seen such richness,” Merrik said. Again, he felt that curious lack, and immediately felt disgusted with himself.

She nodded, distracted.

He smiled, shaking his head. She'd been a slave, then his wife, and now she was returned to her opulent beginnings. But it didn't seem to matter one whit to her.

They stilled. Rollo spoke in a rolling deep voice that brought everyone to immediate and instant silence.

“I asked you here to announce the return of my niece Laren, daughter of my older brother Hallad of Eldjarn.”

There was pandemonium, then the scarlet drapery was pulled aside and they stepped forward to stand beside Rollo.

Then voices were saying, “It is Laren, just look at that red hair!”

“She's a woman now. How old was she when she disappeared?”

“Nay, 'tis a girl who just looks like Laren, she isn't here. Laren is long dead. Whoever took her killed her.”

“Aye, 'twas the earl of Orkney, the vicious sod, who took her and Taby.”